Ceilings

Caitlyn couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at her. The memory of her sharp words toward Vi replayed in her mind, each time stinging a little more. She hadn’t meant to lash out like that; the stress of everything else in her life had simply boiled over. But Vi didn’t deserve to be the target of her frustration.

Determined to make it right, Caitlyn stopped by a small bakery on her way to her second lesson. The warm, sugary scent of freshly baked goods greeted her as she stepped inside. Rows of colorful cupcakes, cookies, and pastries lined the display case, but her eyes landed on a simple chocolate cupcake with purple frosting. It reminded her of Vi. Strong and bold, but with a softness that not everyone got to see.

“That one, please,” Caitlyn said to the cashier, pointing to the cupcake.

As the cashier boxed it up, Caitlyn rehearsed what she would say. Apologies weren’t her strong suit, but Vi deserved one. Maybe the cupcake would make things a little easier.

By the time she reached the rink, her nerves were a tangled mess. She spotted Vi on the bleachers, tying her skates. There was a set to her jaw, a stiffness in her shoulders that made Caitlyn’s stomach twist with guilt.

Taking a deep breath, Caitlyn walked over, holding the box like a peace offering. “Vi, can I talk to you for a second?”

Vi didn’t look up right away. She finished tying her skate and finally glanced at Caitlyn, her expression guarded.

“I, uh, I brought you something,” Caitlyn said, opening the box to reveal the cupcake. “And... I wanted to say I’m sorry. For yesterday. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair, and I feel terrible about it.”

Vi’s eyes flicked to the cupcake and then back to Caitlyn. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and Caitlyn felt her heart sink.
“Thanks,” Vi said finally, taking the box. “But... a cupcake doesn’t just fix everything.”

Caitlyn nodded quickly. “I know. I don’t expect it to. I just wanted to show you that I’m trying to make it right.”

Vi sighed, her fingers drumming lightly on the box. “I get it, Caitlyn. Everyone has bad days. But you can’t just snap at me like that and expect me to brush it off. It’s gonna take me a bit, okay?”

“Of course,” Caitlyn said, her voice soft. “Take all the time you need. I just... I’ll do better. I promise.”

Vi’s expression softened, but only slightly. “We’ll see.”

Caitlyn nodded and took a step back, giving Vi her space. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder to see Vi take a small bite of the cupcake. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was a start.

Caitlyn stood at the edge of the rink, watching as Vi awkwardly tried to execute the drill. Today was different from their last session. The tension from their argument hung heavy in the air, making every moment feel stiffer than it needed to be.

“Okay,” Caitlyn said, her tone measured as she stepped onto the ice. “Let’s go back to basics. Your edges need to be more precise, or you’re going to lose control on tighter turns.”

Vi huffed, clearly frustrated. “Yeah, I got it. Just... show me again.”

Caitlyn nodded, skating a few feet ahead to demonstrate. Her movements were smooth and practiced, the kind that came with years of discipline. “See? Shift your weight onto the inside edge here,” she said, emphasizing the motion, “and keep your balance centered. Don’t let your shoulders dip.”

Vi attempted the move again, her brow furrowed in concentration. It was better this time, but still rough around the edges. She straightened up and sighed. “This feels weird. Are you sure I’m not overthinking it?”

“Honestly?” Caitlyn said, skating closer, “You probably are. But that’s normal. It’ll feel awkward until your body gets used to it.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “You’re making progress, though. You’ve got the strength, you just need to trust yourself more.”

Vi gave her a sideways glance, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “You saying I don’t trust myself?”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, trying not to smile back. “I’m saying you second guess. It’s the same reason you’re overloading your outside edge on transitions. You’re hesitating.”

Vi rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She tried the move again, this time more confidently, and it showed. Her balance was steadier, the edge cleaner.

“Better,” Caitlyn said, allowing a small smile.

“Not perfect, though,” Vi muttered, still looking dissatisfied.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect right away,” Caitlyn replied, her tone softening. “You’re improving, and that’s what matters.”

They fell into an uneasy rhythm, working through the drills. Caitlyn kept her instructions professional, but the usual ease between them was noticeably absent. Every correction felt more clinical than encouraging, and every response from Vi was curt.

After one particularly awkward attempt, Vi skated over to Caitlyn, resting her hands on her hips. “Okay, let’s be real. Are you mad at me, or are we just pretending yesterday didn’t happen?”

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. “I’m not mad, Vi. I’m... I feel awful about what I said. I’m just trying to give you space like you asked.”

Vi stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Fine. But this isn’t exactly ‘space.’”

The tension didn’t fully ease after that, but it cracked just enough for them to continue without the weight of their argument overshadowing every moment.

As the lesson wound down, Vi leaned against the boards, catching her breath. She wasn’t one to admit it, but the drills Caitlyn had her doing had pushed her more than expected. Still, she wasn’t ready to call it a day. There was a stubborn itch to keep going, to push herself just a bit further.

“Hey, Caitlyn,” Vi called out as Caitlyn skated back toward the edge of the rink.

Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Show me a jump,” Vi said, her tone casual, though the glint of curiosity in her eyes betrayed her excitement.

“A jump?” Caitlyn asked, arching an eyebrow. “You’re barely nailing your edges, and now you want to leave the ice entirely?”

Vi smirked. “Come on, you’re always going on about how great your form is. Show me something cool.”

Caitlyn shook her head, though a small smile crept onto her face. “Fine. But just one. And don’t even think about trying it yourself yet, you’re not ready for that.”

“Deal,” Vi said, crossing her arms and stepping back to give Caitlyn space.

The rink had mostly emptied, leaving Caitlyn and Vi with the ice to themselves. Vi leaned against the boards, her arms crossed as she watched Caitlyn adjust her gloves.

“Alright,” Caitlyn said, a mix of nerves and excitement in her voice. “If you want to see something impressive, I’ll show you a triple flip.”
Vi raised an eyebrow. “Triple? Like, three spins? That’s a thing?”

Caitlyn smiled. “It’s more than a thing. It’s a test of timing, balance, and a lot of guts. Watch closely.”

Vi stepped back, her eyes glued to Caitlyn. She watched as Caitlyn skated to the far end of the rink, gaining speed with powerful,
deliberate strokes. Her movements were fluid, every glide and push precise as she approached the jump.

Then, with a sharp turn and a tap of her toe pick, Caitlyn launched into the air. Her body tightened into a perfect rotation, spinning three times in a blink before she landed smoothly, her blade carving a flawless curve into the ice. She straightened up and glided to a stop, a triumphant grin on her face.

Vi let out an impressed whistle, clapping slowly. “Damn, Caitlyn. That was insane.”

Caitlyn skated back to her, still catching her breath. “Thanks. It took years to get it to look that clean.”

“You made it look effortless,” Vi said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I mean, I know it’s not, but still. That was badass.”

Caitlyn laughed, her cheeks flushing from the praise. “It’s all about practice… and a lot of falling in the beginning.”

Vi grinned. “Falling, huh? Sounds like my kind of challenge.”

“Not yet, Vi,” Caitlyn said, holding up a hand. “Jumps are serious business. If you rush it, you’ll end up hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vi said, waving her off with a smirk. “But when you’re ready to teach me, I’m gonna nail that triple flip faster than you think.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “We’ll start with something smaller, like a waltz jump. Then maybe, one day, we’ll talk about triples.”

Vi leaned against the boards, her smirk softening. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

Caitlyn chuckled. “Just wait. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Caitlyn skated a short distance away, slowing to demonstrate. “Alright, watch carefully. The waltz jump is all about timing and weight transfer. Start with a strong glide on your right foot, arms open for balance. Bend your knee slightly, then step forward onto your left foot. From there, push off into the air and land on your right foot, gliding backward.”

She performed the move with ease, her body lifting gracefully into the air before landing smoothly. “See? Nothing to it.”

Vi chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Easy for you to say.”

“Come on,” Caitlyn encouraged, skating back over to her. “I’ll break it down for you.”

They spent the next few minutes working through the basics. Caitlyn guided Vi through each step, skating beside her and offering pointers. “Don’t rush it,” she said when Vi stumbled on her first attempt. “Focus on your balance and let the motion flow naturally.”
Vi tried again, this time managing a small hop that barely got her off the ice. She landed awkwardly, but it wasn’t a complete disaster.
“Not bad for a first try,” Caitlyn said with a grin. “You’ve got the idea. Now try to get a little more lift by pushing off with your back leg.”
Vi nodded, her determination kicking in. On her third attempt, she managed a proper waltz jump, landing with a wobble but staying on her feet.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in victory.

Caitlyn clapped. “That was great! See? I told you you’d get it.”

Vi skated over, a wide grin on her face. “Okay, I’ll admit, that was pretty fun. You’re not a bad teacher, Caitlyn.”

“Not a bad teacher?” Caitlyn teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” Vi said with a mock sigh. “You’re a good teacher. Happy?”

“Very,” Caitlyn replied, her smile softening. For the first time all day, the tension between them felt like it was truly starting to fade.
As they skated a few laps to cool down, Vi glanced over at Caitlyn. “Thanks, by the way. For, you know, sticking with me. Even when I’m a pain.”

Caitlyn chuckled. “You’re not that bad. And honestly? Teaching you is kind of fun.”

“Kind of?” Vi shot back, grinning.

“Don’t push it,” Caitlyn replied, laughing.

The two of them finished the lesson, the ice between them (both literal and figurative) finally starting to thaw.

As Vi and Caitlyn skated toward the boards, laughing lightly from Vi’s successful waltz jump, the sound of sharp footsteps echoed across the rink. A tall, stern figure stepped onto the ice, a figure Caitlyn recognized immediately.

“Caitlyn Kiramman!” the voice rang out, firm and authoritative.

Caitlyn winced and turned, her smile fading as she saw her coach skating toward them, clipboard in hand. The coach’s sharp eyes darted between her and Vi, a disapproving scowl already forming.

“What in the world are you doing?” the coach demanded, pointing at Caitlyn. “Your lesson starts in five minutes, and here you are, wasting time playing coach!”

“I wasn’t…” Caitlyn started, but her coach cut her off with a raised hand.

“And what’s this?” the coach continued, eyes narrowing as they looked at Vi. “A hockey player? On figure skating ice? Absolutely not. This is not a public session for free skating, Caitlyn!”

Vi raised her hands defensively. “Whoa, take it easy. I’m just here for a few pointers. Didn’t mean to break any sacred rules or whatever.”

The coach turned their full attention to Vi, their voice dripping with disdain. “This ice is meant for serious skaters, not people carving it up with hockey blades. You’re damaging the surface we need for precision work!”

“Coach,” Caitlyn interjected, stepping between the two, “she wasn’t doing anything reckless. I was showing her a basic jump. Nothing that would ruin the ice.”

The coach’s expression hardened. “You should be preparing for your session, not wasting time teaching someone who doesn’t belong here. If you want to coach, do it on your own time.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched, but she nodded stiffly. “Understood.”

Vi watched the exchange with a frown, her earlier enthusiasm dimming. “Hey,” she said, her tone more subdued, “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’ll head out.”

Caitlyn turned to her quickly. “Vi, it’s not…”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Vi said, forcing a smile. “Looks like you’ve got bigger things to deal with.” She gave Caitlyn a small nod before skating toward the exit, her movements more subdued than usual.

Caitlyn watched her go, frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior.

“Focus, Caitlyn,” the coach snapped, bringing her back to the moment. “You’ve got a program to nail. Leave distractions like this behind.”

“Yes, Coach,” Caitlyn said, though her thoughts lingered on Vi as she shook her muscles out.

As Vi disappeared into the locker rooms, Coach Grayson crossed their arms, clipboard tucked against their side. “Kiraman, I need you to snap out of it. Nationals are in less than three weeks. Do you have any idea how much work we still have to do on your program?”

Caitlyn nodded, her posture straightening. “Yes, Coach.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Grayson pressed, their tone sharp. “The technical panel is going to be ruthless this year. Your triple combinations need to be flawless, your transitions tighter, and your artistry? Don’t even get me started. If you skate like you did last time, you won’t make it to the top ten, let alone the podium.”

Caitlyn’s stomach tightened, but she nodded again. “Understood.”

Grayson glanced at their watch, then back at her. “Get on the ice. We’re running through the long program twice. No stopping unless it’s a fall.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath and stepped back onto the ice, her skates gliding smoothly over the freshly resurfaced surface. She pushed off into a warm up lap, her movements sharp and purposeful. The carefree energy she’d had with Vi just moments ago was gone, replaced by the intense focus Grayson demanded.

“Start from the top!” Grayson called, clapping their hands.

Caitlyn nodded, skating to her starting position at center ice. The music began, a sweeping orchestral piece that started softly but built to a powerful crescendo. She moved through the opening choreography with grace, her arms fluid and expressive, each movement synchronized with the music.

As the first jump approached, a triple Lutz double toe loop combination, she tightened her focus. She pushed into the setup, her blades carving precise edges into the ice. With a quick snap, she launched into the air, spinning cleanly before landing the Lutz. She immediately transitioned into the double toe loop, her body steady as she landed the second jump.

“Better!” Grayson called from the boards, making a note on the clipboard.

Caitlyn continued, her heart pounding as she moved into the footwork section. Each turn and glide flowed seamlessly into the next, but her mind stayed sharp, analyzing every movement.

By the time the program ended, she was breathless, her legs burning from the effort. She skated over to the boards, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

Grayson handed her a water bottle, her expression neutral. “Not bad. But not good enough for Nationals.”

Caitlyn nodded, gulping down the water. “What do I need to fix?”

“The exit on your second combination spin was weak,” Grayson said. “And your expression during the spiral sequence was nonexistent. You’re skating like a robot, Kiraman. I need you to connect with the audience. Feel the music. Understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” Caitlyn said, though her shoulders sagged slightly.

Grayson softened just a bit. “Look, you’ve got the talent. But talent only gets you so far. Nationals is your chance to prove you belong on the senior circuit. Don’t waste it.”

Caitlyn nodded again, determination flickering in her eyes. “I won’t.”

“Good. Take five, then we’ll run it again.”

As Caitlyn skated off to the bench, her mind raced. Nationals had always been her goal, but the weight of expectations felt heavier than ever.

Caitlyn sat on the bench, her skates still on the ice as she caught her breath. Grayson’s words echoed in her mind. About Nationals, about connecting with the music, about proving herself. She should have been laser focused on those critiques, but instead, her thoughts wandered back to Vi.

She tapped her water bottle against her knee, her gaze drifting to the spot on the ice where Vi had been practicing her waltz jump earlier. It had been clumsy, awkward, and completely endearing. Caitlyn found herself smiling despite the weight of her coach’s demands.

“Why am I even thinking about her?” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

But the thoughts didn’t stop. Vi was nothing like anyone Caitlyn had ever spent time with. She was rough around the edges, sure. Stubborn, loud, and occasionally infuriating. But there was a warmth to her, a kind of tenacity that Caitlyn couldn’t help but admire.
And for someone from the Undercity... Vi was surprisingly kind. Caitlyn had always been told stories about people from that part of the area. Dangerous, untrustworthy, criminals. But Vi didn’t fit that mold. She was driven, and had a sense of humor that made Caitlyn laugh even when she didn’t want to.

And then there was the other thing. The thing Caitlyn hadn’t fully allowed herself to think about.

Vi was... pretty.

It wasn’t in the polished, rehearsed way Caitlyn was used to seeing in her world of galas and figure skating competitions. No, Vi’s beauty was raw and effortless. The sharp lines of her jaw, the way her short pink hair fell just slightly into her face, her smirk that always seemed a little too confident for its own good. Caitlyn felt a warmth rise to her cheeks just thinking about it.

She groaned quietly, burying her face in her hands. “Pull it together, Caitlyn,” she muttered. “You’ve got a program to run, not... whatever this is.”

Still, as she laced her thoughts back together and prepared to return to the ice, she couldn’t quite shake the image of Vi. grinning at her, teasing her, cheering her on even when she didn’t deserve it.

Maybe, just maybe, the thought of a friendship with Vi was starting to appeal to her more than she wanted to admit. A stupid thought, yes, considering the fact that they barely had spent any time together, but Caitlyn couldn't quite shake the thought from her mind.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————-
The sharp scrape of blades against ice filled the rink as Vi leaned into the turn, pushing herself harder with each stride. Her skates bit into the frozen surface, sending up a fine spray of ice as she powered down the rink. She caught sight of the puck sliding toward her and instinctively shifted, catching it with her stick and pivoting toward the goal.

“Focus, Vi!” Coach Sevika’s voice boomed over the din, cutting through the chill air like a whip.

“I am focused!” Vi shouted back, though her tone lacked conviction.

Sevika crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing as Vi fumbled slightly with the puck before regaining control. It wasn’t a bad move. Technically, she was playing well, but Sevika could always tell when Vi’s head wasn’t fully in the game.

Vi sped toward the net, dodging two defenders with a quick deke before slamming the puck into the top corner of the goal. The satisfying clang of the post echoed in the rink, but it did little to quiet the noise in her head.

“Good shot,” Sevika said, skating over as the whistle blew to signal a break. “But you’re holding back. Something on your mind?”
Vi hesitated, gripping her stick tightly. “Nah, just tired, I guess.”

Sevika snorted, clearly unimpressed with the excuse. “You’re distracted. Whatever it is, leave it off the ice. We’ve got a game coming up, and I need you sharp.”

“Got it,” Vi muttered, avoiding her coach’s piercing gaze.

As Sevika skated off to bark orders at another player, Vi took a deep breath and tried to shake the thoughts swirling in her head. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept drifting back to Caitlyn.

The way Caitlyn had looked at her during their last encounter, angry, hurt, defensive, was burned into Vi’s memory. The argument in the library had replayed over and over, and while part of her wanted to stay mad at Caitlyn for her harsh words, another part couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Perfect little princess,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. The image of Caitlyn collapsing on the ice flashed in her mind, her pale face and trembling hands.

“Hey, Vi!” one of her teammates called, snapping her out of her thoughts. “You coming, or are you gonna stand there daydreaming all day?”

Vi smirked, forcing her usual cocky grin into place. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Try to keep up this time, would ya?”

She pushed off, skating back into position for the next drill. But even as she moved, her mind was a split second behind, caught between the rink and the tangled mess of feelings she didn’t quite know how to handle.

When the whistle blew again, signaling the end of practice, Vi felt a mixture of relief and frustration. She skated toward the bench, tossing her stick down and collapsing onto the cold wooden surface.

Sevika approached, her expression unreadable. “You’re improving, but I need you all in, Vi. Whatever’s eating at you, deal with it before the next practice.”

Vi nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

As she unlaced her skates and grabbed her gear, she couldn’t help but wonder if Caitlyn was here too right now, pushing herself too hard just like Vi had been. Maybe, Vi thought, it was time to stop avoiding the conversation they both needed to have.
She swung her hockey bag over her shoulder, the weight of it pulling awkwardly at her tired frame. Her skates clinked against the side of the bag as she trudged toward the exit, her breath still clouding in the cold air inside the rink. Practice had been grueling, but her mind was still elsewhere.

As she passed by the glass walled dance studio that shared the building with the rink, something made her pause. She caught a glimpse of movement, fluid and deliberate. Curious, Vi stopped and leaned against the doorframe, peering in.
There, in the center of the room, was Caitlyn.

She was alone, her figure illuminated by the soft, golden light that spilled from the overhead fixtures. She moved through a series of stretches and drills, her posture impossibly straight, her limbs precise and controlled. Even without skates, she was captivating. Every motion, every turn, radiated grace and discipline.

Vi’s breath hitched as she watched. Caitlyn’s hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray strands framing her face, damp with sweat. She wore a fitted long sleeve and sweatpants that showed the strength in her slender frame. She looked... beautiful.
Vi found herself mesmerized by the way Caitlyn moved, her muscles rippling under the faint sheen of exertion. There was an elegance to her, a perfection in every line and angle of her body. For a moment, Vi forgot all the anger, all the arguments. She just saw Caitlyn. raw, determined, and achingly human.

Caitlyn turned, pivoting into a leap that hung in the air for a fraction of a second before she landed with flawless control. She paused, hands on her hips, catching her breath.

Vi swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She knew she should leave, but her feet felt glued to the floor. There was something vulnerable about Caitlyn in this moment, something different from the icy, controlled demeanor she usually projected.

Caitlyn’s head snapped up suddenly, her sharp eyes locking onto Vi’s reflection in the mirror.

Vi cursed under her breath, her cheeks flushing as Caitlyn turned to face her fully.

“How long have you been standing there?” Caitlyn asked, her voice clipped, though a faint pink rose in her cheeks.

Vi scratched the back of her neck, trying to play it cool. “Not long. Just... on my way out.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And you thought you’d stop to spy?”

“No! I just..” Vi faltered, caught off guard by the accusation. “I was just... watching. You’re... uh...”

“Spit it out, Vi,” Caitlyn said, her tone softening just slightly, though her expression remained guarded.

Vi sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re good. Really good. It’s like... art or something.”

Caitlyn blinked, her defensive stance relaxing. For a moment, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but she quickly closed them. She turned away, looking back at her reflection in the mirror.

“It’s not art,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible. “It’s just work.”

Vi frowned, stepping into the room without thinking. “It looks like more than that. You make it look... effortless.”

Caitlyn glanced at her, her expression unreadable. For a moment, the room was heavy with unspoken words. Then she straightened, turning fully to face Vi.

“Why are you really here?” Caitlyn asked, her tone softer than before.

Vi hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess... I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. With your coach.”

Caitlyn studied her, her piercing gaze searching Vi’s face. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders sagging just a fraction.

“Apology accepted,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Vi shifted awkwardly, unsure what else to say. But as she stood there, the lingering tension between them seemed to shift. less sharp, more uncertain.

“Goodnight, Vi,” Caitlyn said finally, turning back to the mirror and resuming her stretches.

Vi nodded, backing out of the room, her heart pounding harder than it had during practice. “Goodnight, Caitlyn.”

As she stepped back into the hallway, she couldn’t shake the image of Caitlyn’s graceful movements or the strange pull she felt in her chest. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Vi pushed the door open to their small, cozy home, the familiar creak of the hinges greeting her. She tossed her hockey bag onto the floor with a thud, toeing off her boots before stepping inside. The warmth of the house wrapped around her, but something felt... off.
The faint sound of sniffles reached her ears. She followed the noise into the living room, where Powder was curled up on the couch next to Vander, her face buried in his broad chest. Vander’s large hand rested on her back, his expression a mix of worry and barely restrained anger.

Powder’s hoodie was pulled up over her head, but Vi could see a bruise blooming along her cheekbone and a small cut at the corner of her lip.

Vi froze, her heart dropping into her stomach. “What the hell happened?”

Powder lifted her head slightly, her blue eyes puffy and red. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled, her voice thick with tears.

“It’s not nothing,” Vander said, his voice low and steady, though it carried an edge of frustration. “A group of kids cornered her after school. She didn’t want to tell me who it was, but...” He gestured toward her bruised face, his jaw tightening.

Vi felt a wave of heat rise up her neck, anger surging through her veins like fire. “Who was it?” she demanded, her voice sharp and unwavering.

“Vi, don’t…” Powder started, shaking her head.

“Who?” Vi repeated, stepping closer. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Powder whispered, shrinking back.

Vi crouched in front of her, trying to keep her voice calm, though her rage was barely contained. “Pow, you’ve got to tell me. I’m not gonna let this slide.”

Powder hesitated, glancing at Vander, who gave her a small nod of encouragement. “It was the same kids as before,” she admitted finally, her voice trembling. “Jordan and his friends.”

Vi stood up, her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. She grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, already halfway to the door.
“Vi,” Vander said, his voice firm. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“They beat her up,” Vi snapped, spinning around to face him. “They don’t get to just walk away from that!”

“I know,” Vander said, standing up and placing a hand on her shoulder. “But you going out there swinging at a bunch of eighth graders isn’t gonna fix it. You think Powder wants to see you get hurt, or worse?”

Vi looked back at Powder, who was watching her with wide, tear-filled eyes. Her anger wavered for a moment, replaced by a pang of guilt.

“They can’t keep doing this to her,” Vi said, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “Someone’s gotta stand up to them.”

“And we will,” Vander said. “But not like this. We’ll go to the school, talk to the principal. Make sure they know this isn’t okay.”

Vi scoffed, shaking her head. “You really think that’s gonna do anything? They don’t care about kids like us.”

“They will if we make them,” Vander said.

Vi wanted to argue, to storm out and handle it her way, but the weight of Vander’s words, and the fear in Powder’s eyes, held her back. She sighed heavily, her fists unclenching.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if they so much as look at her again, I’m not holding back.”

Vander gave her a small, approving nod. “Fair enough. Now, sit down and cool off. Powder’s gonna be okay. Right, kid?”

Powder nodded hesitantly, leaning back into Vander’s side.

Vi sank into the armchair across from them, her legs bouncing restlessly. Her anger hadn’t disappeared, but for now, she’d keep it in check. Powder needed her here more than she needed revenge.

Vander gave Powder’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing up. “I’ll give you two a moment,” he said, his deep voice softer now. He shot Vi a meaningful look, one that said, Be there for her, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

The room was quiet except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Powder fiddled with the frayed edge of her hoodie sleeve, avoiding Vi’s gaze.

Vi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Hey, Pow,” she said softly, her voice free of the sharp edge it carried earlier. “Talk to me.”

Powder shrugged, her small frame looking even smaller curled up on the couch. “What’s there to talk about? They don’t like me. They never have.”

“That doesn’t mean they get to treat you like this,” Vi said, her voice firm. She hesitated before adding, “And it doesn’t mean you should have to face it alone.”

Powder’s lip quivered, and she swiped at her eyes angrily. “I didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got enough to deal with. Your practices, school, everything.”

Vi’s heart twisted. She scooted closer, sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of Powder. “You’re my sister, Pow. You come first. Always.”

Powder sniffled, finally looking up at Vi. “I just... I don’t get why they hate me so much. I try to stay out of their way, but they always find me. They say I’m weird. That i'm too young to be in their grade. That I don’t belong.”

“They’re assholes,” Vi said bluntly, her tone laced with conviction. “They’re the ones who don’t belong. And you’re not weird. You’re smart, creative, and way cooler than any of those idiots.”

A small, hesitant smile tugged at Powder’s lips. “You really think so?”

Vi grinned, leaning back and throwing her arms out dramatically. “Of course! I mean, have you seen how awesome you are? You’re like... a mad genius or something.”

Powder giggled softly, a sound that melted some of the tension in Vi’s chest.

“You’re tougher than you think, Pow,” Vi continued, her voice gentler now. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own. I’m here. Always.”

Powder nodded, her smile growing a little steadier. “Thanks, Vi.”

Vi reached over, ruffling Powder’s hair. “What are sisters for?”

For the first time that night, Powder’s laughter filled the room, and Vi couldn’t help but smile. The anger was still there, simmering under the surface, but for now, it didn’t matter. Powder was safe, and that was enough.